Friday, June 8, 2012

There are a bunch of bullies where I work. A bunch of the worst kind of bully: The kind that thinks they're not only smarter & better than you, they also believe they're stronger.

These fucks walk around, heads high, know-it-all-ness all shined up and mesmerizing to those less inclined to think for themselves. And they get those duped souls to line the hell up and sip the intoxicating (poisonous?) elixir of the madness they spill.

And get this! People follow them! They don't fight them! They don't stand up and challenge because the bullies act the part and are revered (feared?).

Why all the drama, mama? These assholes are MD's. Pediatricians. And they think they do a better job of parenting your kid than you do. And they are scaring and shaming parents into undertaking invasive newborn treatments for their just birthed babies. And they're doing it by fear and coercion. With one-side research and cries to burn at the stake all that don't comply.

Shhhhh! be quiet, I want to tell you something. A secret: I hate the nursery and all its scrubbed clean babies wrapped in industrial washed blankets in shitty wooden cribs and I hate those f'n doctors in there even more.

Thursday, June 7, 2012

Link woke up at 5:30 this morning. It's been raining since Sunday. I've had bad dreams for the past week and feel like I've been asleep on a bag of rocks when I get out of bed. Have you ever seen The Truman Show? I'm not exactly that paranoid, but I'm not exactly feeling %100 real these days either. Oh, and this has been my VACATION week. No work, but plenty of work.

I want to feel like I've been doing it right for myself, or at least OK'ish. But I don't. I feel like I've been shucking and jiving and as much as I loathe to believe it: I feel like I've been faking it. For me.

I don't feel good. But guess what?! I have too much to fucking do today (again) to focus on it.

Monday, June 4, 2012

They say it's your birthday

It's my mother's birthday today. I didn't remember until I saw some of my cousins posting greetings to her on Facebook. Facebook! You all-knowing, all-freaking thing.

I've been trying to kill my parents so I'm not surprised they aren't on my mind in a traditionally good way. It's been said, I've been told, I'm trying to hear and believe that if I kill them off a little bit at a time, ease them in fragments from my emotional world so they can't hurt me any more. So that it won't sting so much, make me so angry and horribly jangled the next time I have to talk to them or see them.

Maybe it's working? I'm not compelled to call and I don't feel guilty about it. In fact, I feel relieved I don't have to talk to her and hear whether or not my brother already called. And if he did call, how much sooner he did so than I. I don't have to hear how much money she doesn't have to celebrate or listen to confusing and awkwardly strung together stories about her current medical condition.

I started crying yesterday while my husband was talking to me about all of our online accounts and how to access them. He was standing behind me and felt miles tall while I sat in my chair looking up at him. Instantly, instantly I felt 14 years old and I was being blamed for something I hadn't done.

I need to loosen their grip on me. I'm not light-hearted and I can't pretend I don't feel this way. I have kids to raise and a husband to love and I have no more time for their omnipresent judgment.

So, today, on the day of her birth I hope she dies a little bit more.